Summer With My Sister (43 page)

Oh my goodness. Her nerve endings were tingling. I am kissing Jay, she thought in a daze, and it’s okay. In fact, it’s better than okay. I’m enjoying it. I want to keep right on kissing him actually.

‘Mmm,’ she said, rising to meet him halfway. Her fingers circled his arm, and she could feel his bicep taut through his sleeve. ‘Anything else?’ she whispered, before she knew what she was saying.

‘Perhaps . . . this,’ he murmured, moving a hand around to unbutton her blouse. She gasped as she felt his fingers brush against her skin, the sensation star-bursting through her entire body. It felt amazing. Stay in control, Polly, her last shred of sanity managed to squeak, but she ignored it. Oh, sod staying in control, she thought, with a sudden yearning hunger. Sod being scared.

‘Why don’t you show me your bedroom?’ she said breathlessly.

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he replied.

It was without a doubt the sexiest sex she’d ever had, the slowest, gentlest, most sensual experience of her entire life. He looked even better naked now than he had done at eighteen, although her fingers traced a new scar on one arm, a faded Celtic tattoo on one shoulder, and firm abdominal muscles that definitely hadn’t been there twenty years ago. It was all so different, yet wonderfully familiar. It felt as if she’d come home.

To think of all the crap sex she’d had since she’d last slept with him: all those awful, disastrous encounters with completely unsuitable men, which had stemmed from her loneliness and her need to feel another person’s arms around her. The last guy had been a ruddy-cheeked, slightly overweight fellow delegate at the dreary Future of Mobile Banking conference she’d attended back in the spring – Patrick Someone-or-other. He’d had clammy hands, he’d grappled with her bra as if he’d never encountered one before, his kissing had been one enormous probing tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth, and as for the act itself, he’d barely put the condom on before he’d exploded into it, puffing like a beached whale.

Whereas Jay, on the other hand . . . He made her feel beautiful. She could see the desire shining out of his eyes. He’d held her, touched her, looked at her all over. And she hadn’t felt afraid, not for a second.

It was only afterwards, when they were lying together, that doubt and anxiety crept back. Oh God, she thought, as her pulse returned to normal and the heat between them cooled. Now what? Whose life had she just jinxed this time?

He was stroking her hair and she could feel herself starting to panic. She shouldn’t have done that. Her and Jay: it was a terrible idea. However much she had fancied him in that crazy drunken moment, however much she’d enjoyed having sex with him, she needed to get out quickly before things became too complicated. Quit while she was ahead. Because she was hopeless at relationships, period. And with him – well, it hadn’t exactly worked out the first time, had it?

‘I’m falling in love with you,’ he said at that moment, and it was like a needle screeching horribly on a record.

She stiffened, jerking away automatically. ‘Don’t say that.’
Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it
. He couldn’t possibly mean it. Couldn’t they just leave it at sex? She wasn’t sure she could cope with anything else.

‘Why not? It’s true. I always wondered about you, wondered what might have happened if we’d stayed together, and . . .’

She couldn’t bear to listen. ‘Yeah, well, we didn’t, did we?’

He propped himself up on an elbow to look at her and she pulled the sheet over herself, suddenly aware of her cellulite and lumpy bits, and the – yikes! – single black hair that appeared to be sprouting under her nipple. ‘What’s up?’ he asked, frowning.

She rolled over onto her front and began pleating the soft cotton of the pillowcase between her fingers. ‘I don’t think there’s any point talking about
love
when . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Well, I’m only here for the summer, aren’t I?’

‘Are you?’

‘Yes. I thought you knew that?’

Now it was his turn to look away. ‘I suppose I was just hoping . . .’

‘No.’

‘What?’

‘Whatever you were hoping, it’s not going to happen.’

There was an uncomfortable silence, then Polly heard a threatening rumble of thunder in the distance. A storm was brewing outside the house, as well as right there in the bedroom. ‘What makes you so sure?’ he asked after a moment. ‘How can you possibly know?’

He was running his fingers up her back and it was distracting her. Mustn’t get distracted. She swallowed. ‘Look, I’ll be gone in a few weeks,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘Let’s not make more out of this than there really is.’

She was being deliberately harsh, she knew, but it was the best thing for both of them if she was upfront. Nothing was going to come of this – how could any kind of relationship work when she’d be back in London again so soon? What was the point of pretending otherwise?

He looked as if she’d slapped him; the hurt was visible in his eyes. ‘Well . . . okay,’ he said eventually. ‘I suppose you’re right. Thanks for the shag, though. Kind of you to give me that much.’

‘Don’t be like that,’ she said wretchedly. ‘I’ve had a lovely evening. I do really like you, and it’s been great getting to know you again. But . . .’

‘But
what
? Why does there have to be a “but”?’

‘You
know
why there has to be a “but”. Because you’re you, and I’m me. We want different things – we’ve got nothing in common.’

He was staring miserably at the ceiling and said nothing.

‘Look, it’s not you—’ she began.

‘Don’t.’ His tone was savage now. ‘Just don’t. If you start on the “It’s not you, it’s me” crap, I’m actually going to have to . . . I dunno, go outside stark-bollock-naked and start bellowing obscenities into the night.’

She laughed. Nervously. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It
is
me, though. I’m rubbish at lovey-dovey stuff. Makes me want to run for the hills.’

He waved a hand. ‘Go ahead. I won’t stop you.’

God, she’d really wrecked this now. Or rather he’d wrecked it first, by saying that horrendous L-word out loud, and then she’d double-wrecked it by freaking out.

She felt sober and embarrassed and tired. And if he was saying ‘Go ahead’ in that offhand way, there was really no reason not to do precisely that.

She sat up, reached for her clothes and began dressing herself just as torrential rain started hammering against the skylight above them.

‘What are you doing now?’ He sounded completely exasperated by her. It was definitely time to vamoose.

‘What does it look like? I’m going back to Clare’s.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t be such a drama queen. How are you planning to do that? We’re both over the limit and you’ll never get a cab around here.’

She glared at him. ‘I’ll walk.’

‘In the dark? In the pouring
rain
? Jesus, Polly.’ He smacked the heel of his hand against his head. ‘Just stay. I’ll sleep on the sofa, if you can’t bear to share a bed with me.’

She put her head in her hands, wishing she could rewind the whole evening. ‘Wait,’ she said feebly, but he was already storming out of the room, bristling with irritation.

Well, that had gone absolutely brilliantly . . .
not
, she thought, collapsing back onto the bed. Bloody Clare and her texts. Take a risk! Snog him! Yeah, she’d done that, and look what had happened – it had trashed everything, and he hated her.

Great. She punched the pillow and listened to the rain, feeling thoroughly confused. Why did other people have to be so
complicated
?

Chapter Twenty-Four

The following day was Clare’s last shift at work for two whole weeks, and she already felt in a holiday mood as she turned on her computer and glanced through the morning’s appointments. She’d worked so hard lately, day and night, that she was definitely ready for a break. Debbie’s parents had a static caravan in Bournemouth, and they’d said Clare and the children could stay there, rent-free, for a week. Clare planned to pack up and set off on Monday, after a last blitz on her Langley’s order. With a bit of luck, she’d be able to deliver the goods early then leave for a well-deserved holiday with a clear conscience. Whoopee! The weather was forecast to be beautiful, and Clare could envisage day after day of sunny beach fun. She’d even bought herself a new swimming costume, just in case she dared take her first dip in years. Or maybe she’d just paddle. Whatever. She was going to have a great time.

First things first, though: she had today to get through. And before she could even
think
about work, she had to uncover what exactly was happening with her sister. She’d been so deliciously excited for her the previous evening, as hour after hour had ticked by with no sign of Polly returning. And then this morning her bed hadn’t been slept in, which could only mean one thing. Get in! Clare had known all along that Polly and Jay were perfect for each other. At last it seemed that they might just have realized the obvious truth too.

Oi, dirty stop-out, what time do you call this?
? she texted.
Ring me when you get a mo. I need to know EVERYTHING!

‘Morning,’ Roxie trilled just then, chucking her pea-green bag under the desk and pushing her shades up on top of her head. She was wearing a denim playsuit with a lilac broderie-anglaise vest underneath, and had dyed her hair a rather brassy shade of copper. It was fastened at the side by one pink polka-dot Hello Kitty hairslide and one diamanté flower clip. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ she said. ‘George just wouldn’t take no for an answer and insisted on one last quickie over the kitchen table before he’d let me out.’

Clare giggled. ‘George?’

‘Clooney,’ Roxie said airily, switching on her computer. ‘You know what he’s like.’

‘Bit old for you, Rox, isn’t he?’ They both swung round to see Luke standing there, looking bemused.

Roxie tossed her hair. ‘I share him with my mum,’ she said, as if that made everything all right. ‘I have him Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, she takes the other days. He has Sunday off to catch up on his sleep in a luxury hotel.’

‘Ahh,’ Luke said solemnly. ‘Of course.’

‘Talking of luxury hotels,’ Roxie went on, and then stopped, as if noticing Luke properly for the first time. ‘Sorry, did you want something?’

‘I can’t find my notes on Mrs Ellington,’ he said. ‘She’s coming in today and I know we had a letter from the hospital about her recently, but it doesn’t seem to be on the system.’

‘Ah,’ Clare said guiltily, pointing to the tray in front of her, which was stuffed full of papers. ‘Sorry. I’ve been meaning to scan those in, it’s probably in there. Bear with me.’ She began rifling through, still half-listening to Roxie’s wittering.

‘So, yeah, as I was saying, luxury hotels – well, Aunty Kate came round for tea yesterday and she said Langley’s is nearly ready for the opening. She took us for a sneak preview of it: whoa, wait till you see it, Clare. The bedrooms are just stunning. And the pool – oh my GOD, it’s to die for. There’s a waterfall in it, and a jacuzzi area, and best of all—’

‘Here we go,’ Clare said, fishing the letter out and passing it to Luke. His fingers brushed against hers and she felt her skin tingle a hot pink. She looked like the proverbial village idiot, no doubt. Great.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Clare, are you even
listening
?’ Roxie said peevishly, hands on hips. ‘I’m trying to tell you something important here.’

‘Yes,’ she replied, trying not to sound impatient. ‘I am listening, Rox, but it’s not all that relevant to me, is it? I’m only going to be a supplier, not a guest, more’s the pity.’

Roxie was pouting. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Well, I’ll give my complimentary vouchers to
Luke
, then, shall I? He might want to take his girlfriend there for a dirty weekend, if
you’re
not interested, Clare.’

Clare swung round at the mention of complimentary vouchers, wishing she’d sounded more enthusiastic. ‘I didn’t mean—’ she began, but Luke was already holding his hands up.

‘Don’t drag me into this,’ he said. ‘Besides, there is no girlfriend any more, so . . .’ He shrugged and walked away with the letter.